Deviant
by green see-through ghosts
Summary: Drabble Two: Funny how blame never stuck to the right person...Ender's Game, Petra-centric.
1. Fluke

A Petra drabble...it's not what I usually read, this Ender's Game stuff, but...Battle of the Books will make us read what they will. And I so want to beat my record before leaving this school of mine...(which is me and my team winning sixth at state, if you care :D) But...I'm not minding it as much as I usually would. Oddity, indeed.

**Deviant**

by **green see-through ghosts**

**AN**: I've only gotten to just past where Ender and Petra train for the first time...and I could resist rambling about her character. She is most likely **OOC**... so be warned...

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Locked Up, Grown Up, Knocked Up...what's the difference?

There were some things the girls never brought up. No-one ever said it, no-one offered the information, and no-one ever asked. That wasn't how it was in Battle School; you didn't coddle, didn't get coddled, and you sure as hell didn't cry about it. There were no training of the psych, because by four or five, these kids had already killed their emotions. In fact, they weren't even kids anymore. Minnie adults, really, just facing off against the teachers and commanders.

At least, the good ones were. And Petra swore from the beginning that she was going to be a good one. Damn the fact that she was female in a world where her kind was doomed; she wouldn't let it beat her. She never let it beat her; not in the dorms, where she tossed off her clothes casually and refused to make a fuss of it. Not in the battle-rooms, where she worked harder than anyone, and never let anyone acknowledge it. No-one in the whole damn battle-school would ever say she was a lucky fluke, that she only got through because of nonexistent connections.

They were young -- sure, _young_, whatever -- but they were vicious, like rabid dogs amongst each other. And Petra was there, and would be there, and would stand, fight, learn, excel, _stay_, because she was not a fluke. No-one was a damn fluke; nothing was freak; everything was for a reason.

So when Bonzo came around, all the time, that cold beauty rubbing against her sanity like a cheese-grater on bread, she played it up instead of down. _Sir?_ and pull her shirt over her head, tossing it to the bunk as she waited for him to say whatever shit-heads like him had to say. _You want what? _Stretch back, arms behind the head, and force herself not to wince at the exposure as his eyes grew angry.

No-one said it was easy. But damnit, it wasn't like she expected it to be. For all her nine years, Petra knew what was hard, and what was impossible. And this wasn't impossible; wasn't even close. Bonzo was making her stronger; he was making her acknowledge her weakness, and move past it. They all were. Maybe not intentionally, but if you waited for that stuff to happen on purpose, you'd be iced before you knew it.

It was like that drop of blood the day Ender showed up. It was there, with its friends, and it was pissing her off so bad that she wanted to wipe her whole face against a pillow.

But it _wasn't _there; it didn't get past the gates into the strict world Petra ran. Blood didn't get by; neither did nakedness; neither did longing. None of that shit would get to her head; she wouldn't let it.

Because, _goddammit_, Petra was not a fluke. Not now, not a few days from now, not when taken by surprise, not when beaten to a bloody pulp for existing. Because no-one was a fluke; nothing was freak. Everything...

...everything was for a reason.


	2. Blame

Every time I read Ender's Game, I feel the need to write more drabbles. All concerning Petra Arkanian, whom I have come to _adore_. No telling why. No _idea_ why. There will be at least one more drabble centering around her and Dink...and when Battle of the Books is over, I hope to read the other books she is forefront in...and thus write more drabbles...

**Blame**

by **green see-through ghosts**

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**That anger. The furry. It _burned_, like a roaring fire in her chest, and nothing she tried kept it down. It was worse than being frozen in the middle of battle, yearning to shout out commands and take down every son of a bitch who messed with her army, but unable to for the immovable stiffness of the battle suits. It was worse than the frustration she felt at Phoenix Army when they just _couldn't get it._ It was worse than anything.

Petra had known from the moment Ender had entered the Commander's Mess, that blankly smug expression on his face. Such a little punk, he was, and he didn't even know it. But, Petra could let that go. She could forgive him for being excellent, and stand-out, and goddamned _adorable _without any clue of what he was. But though she didn't hate him (yet), Petra knew they would have him take care of her next. She knew that the adults would pit Ender against her, just to show her how much she had left to learn. Phoenix Army was good, but they could be better. And though Petra spent hours trying to make this happen, there were just some things that wouldn't come together for her.

So they would do this, those adults. They would humiliate her and her crew by having them fight Ender's Dragon Army without giving her a chance to see how he had changed the style of the Battleroom fights. She tried to blame Ender, but it didn't work. She tried to blame her army for being slow and stupid and not adapting quick enough, but those words never even left her mouth. She tried, after everything else, to pin the blame on the adults that rigged the game to try to make Ender lose, knowing it would force him to win.

But the guilt for the loss never stuck unless she strung it on herself.


End file.
